The Cartel's Shakedown

While the meeting personality was busy chatting with Wahando and Sesaisa and hammering out organizational policy, the community personality had to keep an eye on the Meteor Cartel's lower-ranking members.

Biin, Sesaisa, Mihun, and Wahando. The four of us formed an equal structure, but we still had a decent number of subordinates. There had been around 380 of them, but 300 had declared their withdrawal, leaving 80. Many of those had already merged their worlds with one another, so the numbers compressed further.

In the end, 40 remained, and these ones seemed to have their heads screwed on straight.

The god called Ainon had chosen not to withdraw. He asked me for ecosystem consulting, and since I had spoken under a truth-verification oath, I helped improve his plague-ravaged world by creating viruses that parasitized the bacteria afflicting his livestock.

“Minor, yet effective.”

“Minor things often bring the biggest gains.”

We also signed a strict non-aggression pact and a full confidentiality agreement regarding the consulting information. The moment he received it, his expression changed completely.

“Then, Biin-hyungssi.”

“Hyungssi???”

“Would you prefer another form of address? Anyway, if you ever need anything, just say the word. Even if we can’t interact openly with your group, I can still act as an intermediary for trades between you and others.”

I wondered why he was suddenly acting so bold, then it hit me.

This guy had signed absolute non-aggression pacts with all four of us.

In other words, he was now the only player who could openly defy the Meteor Cartel without fear. Unless someone possessed a trait that could break these contracts, of course.

So Ainon could either never trade with the Meteor Cartel again, or he could leverage his unique position to play the role of “top executive.”

I had considered the possibility of severed ties, but I never expected him to openly exploit his status for profit.

“Smart. I like smart guys.”

“Heh heh.”

“If you bring me magic stones, scout suitable targets we can hit, or collect payments on our behalf, I can trade you points and resources at a favorable rate. Enough to make it worth your while.”

“As expected. I knew you weren’t just a bunch of lunatics.”

Really? Honestly, we started out as exactly that.

Besides Ainon, forty other subordinates actively sought to cooperate with the Cartel. They probably believed our consulting was genuinely useful.

Or perhaps they simply wanted to keep the Cartel as a powerful backer that could retaliate against anyone targeting them while enjoying absolute safety from the Meteor Cartel itself. Some even began openly flaunting their Cartel affiliation to extort others, while others quietly brokered under-the-table deals using only our consulting.

Thus the number of lower-ranking members grew. Some even formed groups of eight to receive joint consulting and signed contracts to climb to higher rounds together, prioritizing the actual development of their worlds over immediate points. They were clearly trying to ride the Cartel’s coattails to greater heights.

Another excellent choice. We had nothing to lose. On the contrary, gaining stable sources of points and resources was beneficial.

Ah, and there were players like this one too.

Players who collected four non-aggression pacts and simply left. They had been thoroughly milked of points after receiving consulting, but it wasn’t exactly a loss for them. They just wanted the guarantee of safety from us and nothing more.

Not the best strategy, in my opinion. Actively colluding with us would have given them far better odds of survival.

After Wahando joined, this “organized crime” operation gained real substance. He created several Cartel rules and formalized the systematic collection process, turning it into a tactical tool.

We kept the original “boss meeting room” for just the four of us, but created a separate gathering space for the top executives and bosses to discuss Cartel-wide policy.

For now it was only a temporary measure. Once Sesaisa and Mihun arrived, we could have more substantial discussions.

Since only Wahando and I were currently in the organization, we divided roles. Wahando would manage internal meetings, while I, with my many clones, would handle external operations through the community.

If we had possessed many subordinate gods, I could have focused solely on the community, but this was the limit for a group with no subordinates at all.

Still, Wahando found a way to overcome that limitation.

I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no reason to do such a thing, but Wahando had decided to treat the top executives like his own subordinate gods. As long as they upheld the policy of “annihilate every enemy,” the Meteor Cartel’s madness could be maintained.

And that policy did not contradict the rule that “we strictly honor all contracts with our members.”

Once that became clear, the lower-ranking members grew enthusiastic. They diligently managed Wahando’s world and contributed various forms of knowledge. When Sesaisa eventually arrived, they would probably rush to repair his damaged world as well.

Compared to players who had free subordinate gods, our efficiency was absurdly poor because ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠we had to pay points. But the gains from maintaining the madman strategy made it worthwhile.

That madman strategy—unreasonably annihilating every opponent we faced while all four of us possessed two mythic-grade traits each—allowed us to commit acts that should have been impossible.

Dokokai was a fairly high-ranking player in the game and the leader of a mid-tier faction in his own right.

Still, compared to me, he was nothing. The Meteor Cartel’s reputation as lunatics who refused all dialogue had spread widely through the community (the Myth Alliance had been screaming about it everywhere), so Dokokai spent a long time deliberating before finally begging.

Dokokai ultimately surrendered. He must have found withdrawing too painful, because he agreed to hand over 3 million points.

Then I declared war on every mid-tier faction that couldn’t possibly stand against me, one after another, extracting a total of 15 million points and several million points’ worth of <Mystery> resources.

I had obtained an enormous amount of Mystery—enough to fill the material layers of my world many times over—through nothing but intimidation.

This was strategy. Without civilization, I ultimately had to overwhelm opposing worlds through raw stat power. In that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠regard, the Meteor Cartel’s backing was invaluable.

While I was doing this, I noticed that mid-tier factions were either already scheduled to collide with other opponents, buying new worlds, or tearfully withdrawing.

Nothing could be done about that. Still, this strategy would remain effective until very late in the game when only a handful of players remained. The true top ranks wouldn’t be eager to charge at us recklessly.

Even if someone managed to defeat one of us four, it would only benefit the others.

Winning in the first place was difficult enough, and even if they consumed our world, the gains wouldn’t be worth it. Any victory would drag on until the world was nearly destroyed, leaving almost no viable options.

This strategy worked because declarations of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠war could be canceled by paying points equal to the level requirement, while withdrawal declarations could not.

In short, if someone declared war on me, they had three choices: pay the points, declare withdrawal to cancel the war, or fight immediately.

As time passed, other players began finishing their collisions, and I extorted quite a lot by immediately declaring war on those who had just finished.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t extract much from Mitomok’s faction. Once they saw Mitomok fall, the entire group declared withdrawal. They probably couldn’t bear the thought of being crushed one by one while doing nothing.

Once we entered the “no-withdrawal zone,” we would be able to extract even more. From that point on, the only options would be fight or die.

I was gleefully thinking that the madman strategy was truly efficient at its extreme. Wahando was also busy putting lower members to work while running operations, and Sesaisa had just arrived and joined the collection efforts.

Hmm…? He’s declaring war on me instead?

When I searched the community, I found that Dindinaron had started a crowdfunding campaign, promising to defeat the Meteor Cartel—the vicious bandits—if people supplied him with enough troops and resources.

He would only declare war on any Meteor Cartel member once the promised contributions reached a certain threshold. Then, after winning, he would redistribute twice the invested amount to his backers.

The problem was the number. The amount Dindinaron had set as his crowdfunding goal was a staggering 20 million points.

It looked like a lot, but if fifty mid-tier factions each contributed 400,000 points and each faction had 100 members, roughly 5,000 split donations would reach that total.

It was a gamble, yet extremely rational. He wasn’t truly prepared to have his soul erased.

At the current level requirement of the tenth collision, 635,445 points plus roughly 4.5 levels would equal 20 million points.

Since he would also have his own world’s score, he calculated that with 20 million plus several million points’ worth of resources, he could build an overwhelming army, crush me, completely dismantle my world, and still have massive resources left to distribute to investors.

But what was he going to do about this?

My world had already approached 6 million points just before the ninth collision. After winning that collision and reorganizing, my score had tripled. On top of that, I had scraped together tens of millions of points and millions of <Mystery> from other players.

My world’s potential already exceeded 20 million points. If I deliberately spent points to supply more resources, I could even aim for 30 million.

If you’re going to crowdfund, at least aim for 100 million. What’s 20 million supposed to do?

You’re dead in the next collision. I’ll offer that 20 million points’ worth of resources and troops as sacrifices to the Nectar Well in Dessert Desert.

Perhaps stimulated by his funding campaign, both Wahando and Sesaisa—who hadn’t been very active in operations—were also declared war on by crowdfunded players in succession. Was this how the top ranks conducted business?

When Mihun returned from his world collision, he was immediately attacked and looked genuinely puzzled. Wahando silently showed him the community post, and Mihun burst into laughter.

Exactly. They were all coming to die of their own accord.

Biin, Sesaisa, Mihun, and Wahando all wore wicked grins as they converted their accumulated points into resources and began intensively consulting one another’s worlds.

Successful funding did not guarantee business success. Sorry to those who funded, but this particular campaign would experience indefinite delivery delays.

Tenth round. I shall rain down a meteor shower.